


my kind will be on my side

by dressedupasmyself



Series: Somewhere Only We Know [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cuddling, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, M/M, muggle movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 14:47:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19725811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dressedupasmyself/pseuds/dressedupasmyself
Summary: Malfoy is sad and as usual, it's Harry's job to cheer him up.





	my kind will be on my side

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song The Hype by Twenty One Pilots.

_Yeah, they might be talking behind your head_

_Your exterior world can step off instead_

_It might take some friends and a warmer shirt_

_But you don’t get thick skin without getting burnt_

***

Harry opened the front door to Luna’s cottage with one hand, balancing the takeout bag and two large milkshakes in his other hand. He dropped the key just as the door swung open and swore under his breath. He managed to toe of his shoes and pick up the dropped key without spilling any of the food.

Malfoy didn’t look up from his position on the couch. He was sitting sideways and cross-legged, glaring down at a small black kitten who seemed content to purr against Malfoy’s side.

Harry was no longer surprised to see Malfoy like this, so utterly comfortable in a space that was at least part his. Malfoy was wearing soft pyjama pants and a knitted jumper that might have had some Christmas shape on the front at one point, but that had faded almost completely. His feet were bare, and that was probably the part that had taken Harry the most off guard the first time he’d seen it.

Harry grabbed plates from the kitchen and divided the food in half. He took Malfoy his food and one of the milkshakes, his own floating behind him lazily. When Malfoy had taken his plate with no fuss, Harry moved Severus out of the way so he could take a seat.

Harry didn’t say anything as he ate, only watching Malfoy to get a read on the current situation.

Malfoy was quiet, his brow furrowed. It was different than when Harry had first arrived, less furious and more heartbroken. He ate neatly and quickly, taking tiny bites that made Harry feel slightly barbarian.

When they were done, Malfoy flicked his wand, making the dishes float to the sink effortlessly.

“Did Luna send you?” he asked, and his voice was slightly hoarse.

“No,” Harry reached out a hand to scoop Severus into his lap. The kitten meowed softly but let him pet her. “Ginny did.”

Malfoy’s expression turned bitter. “Of course she did.”

“She worries,” Harry defended. “Where’re your roommates?”

“Luna accompanied Longbottom to his grandmother’s birthday dinner. They left early this morning.”

Harry scratched his ear. He had been at home, helping George paper mâché something that might become a snowman in the future, with a bit of imagination. Ginny had shown up in a rush, on her way to a meeting with a very important Quidditch agent. She’d informed Harry that Malfoy had acted strangely when she’d gone to drop off her kitten to be babysat, and heavily suggested that the blond might appreciate some company. Why these duties always fell on Harry, he certainly did not know.

Although, if he was being fair, he had to give Luna and Neville the credit they were due. They had each done more than their share of Malfoy-consoling over the two years he’d lived with them.

None of this had given Harry any sort of indication as to what was bothering Malfoy. Malfoy was a drama queen of epic proportions and could spin any story to fit his narrative with no problem at all. But Harry knew that when something really bothered him, he tended to tuck back into himself and pretend it wasn’t an issue, until someone forced it out of him.

“Poor Luna. That Agatha is a piece of work,” Harry kept his tone light. It would do nobody any good if he scared Malfoy away while he’s still being sulky.

Malfoy huffed. “She makes some of my more questionable family members look like helpless kittens.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry smirked. “Like this one?” He pointed to the sleeping Severus in his lap.

“I am unsure whether you’re referring to the actual kitten, or the fact that the said kitten is named after my godfather, who you considered questionable, but either way, you’re not funny, Potter.”

Harry grinned to himself as he shrugged. He thought he was very funny.

“Well, if you’re not going for my excellent jokes, then you’d better start talking about whatever it is that has you so huffy.”

Malfoy crossed his arms, looking for all the world like a porcupine trying to seem intimidating.

“I am not huffy, fuck off, Potter.”

Harry accioed the remote for the television.

“Fine, how about we watch a movie, then? I’ll even let you pick.”

Malfoy had chosen some bullshitty action flick that neither of them were particularly invested in. Harry leaned with his head against the back of the couch, his legs propped up on the coffee table. Malfoy was still turned sideways, towards him, but he was also resting his head against the back of the couch, his eyes half open as he watched the movie. Between them, Severus slumbered peacefully, snoring adorably on every inhale.

“Why do Muggles enjoy these films so much?” Malfoy asked. They were nearing the end of the movie if the way the main character was snogging the pants off a distressed girl was any indication.

“I don’t know, Malfoy. Don’t you enjoy them?”

“Hmm. Sometimes. They’re quite repetitive though, aren’t they?”

Harry flicked a glance at Malfoy. He was still looking at the TV-screen, but he seemed more curiously interested than truly invested in the happy ending.

“I guess they think that if you liked one, you’ll also like the others because they’re so similar.”

“That’s dumb,” Malfoy muttered, reaching behind him for the blanket Luna kept on the back of the couch. “If I liked the first movie, it was because I didn’t know the ending. That doesn’t mean I will remain interested in what is essentially ten different retellings of the same story.”

“You can always pick a different movie, if you know that these ones are going to be predictable.”

Malfoy turned his head slightly towards Harry. He looked sleepy and happy, a complete contrast to the Malfoy Harry had noticed when he’d first arrived. “Who makes these films?”

Harry loved it when Malfoy started asking questions. He was so incessantly curious, and it didn’t matter to him if Harry didn’t have all the answers. He’d just ask another question until Harry could answer. Harry had considered introducing his friend to Google, but he found the way Malfoy seemed enlightened by new facts too endearing to willingly give it up.

“Muggles call them directors, I think. I don’t know too much about it.”

“So, they decide what stories to tell? Like an author does with a novel?”

Harry thought about it. “Sometimes an author will direct a movie themselves, but most often there are screenwriters who write the script, and then the director puts it all together in a way that is pleasing to watch.”

Malfoy turned his attention back to the screen. “Maybe I should learn how to do that. If I’m going to get disowned, I might as well be extreme about it.”

Harry reached out to pause the movie. The film was about done anyway, and neither of them really cared.

“Did something happen with your parents?”

Malfoy was about to open his mouth to answer when there was a knock on the door. His expression shuttered closed and he pulled his blanket up and around his shoulders.

Harry rolled his eyes and got up to open the door. He had to stifle his irritation at being so close to getting Malfoy to spill, only to be knocked back to square one.

Ginny didn’t flinch at his glare when he greeted her. She looked tired and slightly wrung out, so Harry tried to hide his annoyance better.

“Come to get your cat?” he asked. “How was the interview?”

Ginny shoved past him with a sigh and went into the kitchen. “Tea?” she asked.

“Earl Grey,” Malfoy muttered. “It’s hidden behind the chicken-shaped kettle above the stove.”

Ginny laughed faintly, but proceeded to make tea. She came back with three mugs, handing one each to the boys before sitting on the edge of the coffee table to face them.

“Do you really sneak around drinking tea in your own home?” she asked jokingly, blowing at her mug.

“Only if I don’t feel like watching Luna cry,” Malfoy grumbled, wrapping both of his hands around his own mug like it was the only thing tethering him to the land of the living. “Did you put it back?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you don’t have to worry.”

Harry put his mug down. “How did it go, Gin?” he asked again.

Ginny shrugged, letting her fingertip run along the rim of the mug. “I don’t know. I think it went okay, but I have to wait for further correspondence now. There’s nothing more I can do at this moment.”

“They’ll take you,” Malfoy voiced confidently. “If they don’t, they’re dumb and you should just start your own team.”

Ginny smiled into her mug. She still looked a little worried, but some of the tension has dissipated from her shoulders.

“So, what have you two been up to?” She glanced behind her at the frozen image of the screen. “Oh, ugh. I can’t stand this movie.”

Malfoy perked up at the opportunity to debate with someone. “Do you just dislike this particular film, or the others in the series as well?”

Harry listened with half an ear as Malfoy and Ginny debated the merits of action flicks and their limited plot variation. He sipped at his tea and enjoyed the warmth from where Severus was pressing her tiny body all along his thigh, still snoring softly.

This was another of those moments he missed deeply while in Romania. While he’d grown to like Charlie quite a bit and considered him family, it had been lonely most of the time. Letters and pictures could only do so much for the ache in his chest. As he sat there, there was a whole different kind of ache in his chest, one that he had no intention of getting rid of. He’d miss it too much.

“Alright, I’d better get going,” Ginny eventually excused herself. She gently shifted Severus into her arms. The little kitten snuffled softly and twisted in her hands. Her eyes opened sleepily, but then she purred as she realised it was just Ginny. “There you go, little beastie, time to go home.”

Ginny let herself out, throwing a soft goodbye over her shoulder.

Malfoy reached out to press play on the last five minutes of their movie. Harry shivered, no longer kept warm by soft feline heat. Malfoy frowned at him and shifted so a piece of his blanket was available for Harry to pull over his legs. Harry did, pulling his legs up onto the couch so he could snuggle his toes into Malfoy’s warm leg.

Malfoy didn’t say anything, eyes trained on the television as he absently placed a hand on Harry’s ankle.

Harry didn’t bother with trying to follow the last of the plot, and soon enough the credits were rolling. He looked over at Malfoy.

The blond’s eyes were halfway shut. His cheeks were flushed slightly from the tea, and he looked like he could fall asleep at any moment. He turned his head to Harry. “Are you staying?” He looked vulnerable, and Harry was absolutely fucked.

“Yeah,” Harry whispered. “If you want.”

Malfoy nodded, snuggling deeper into the couch with satisfaction. “Let’s not watch another one of these movies. They’re a bit shit. You pick something.”

Harry held out a hand for the remote, and Malfoy dropped it into his hand lazily. Harry flicked through the options, then essentially clicked play at random.

The movie was about a weird Muggle sport called jousting. Harry regretted picking this particular movie the moment he saw Malfoy’s eyes brighten. He was still very sleepy, and apparently found that his current position made it hard to talk. Malfoy shifted so he was laying horizontally along the couch, his head in Harry’s lap and the rest of his body pressed against Harry’s legs.

“What are the rules of this sport?” his questions started, and it was all Harry could do to relay the little information he had on the matter, which was practically nothing. This had never stopped Malfoy before, so eventually Harry just repeated “I have no idea” after each question and let him at it.

The gaps between each question grew larger as the movie continued, until Harry finally looked down to check if Malfoy was still alright. He’d fallen asleep and was breathing softly. Harry tugged at the blanket to secure it more firmly around them, then settled in. At least he’d chosen an interesting movie.

Harry must have drifted off somewhere during the movie, because he woke up to the credits rolling and Malfoy shifting to sit upright. Harry blinked, waking up slowly. He yawned, then glanced at the clock. It had just gone midnight, and now would be the time for him to leave.

“Do you want more tea?” Malfoy asked sleepily.

Harry turned his head toward him. Malfoy’s hair was all messy and there was an imprint of Harry’s jeans on his cheek. He was watching Harry with such clarity and trust in his eyes, and Harry once again recognised his fuckedness in the situation. If he wanted even the slightest chance of making it through the evening alive, he had to leave. Now.

Instead (because of the above mentioned fuckedness), Harry nodded. Malfoy nodded too, satisfied.

“Good. You go make it.” Harry just looked at Malfoy, not fully awake yet. “The good stuff is behind the chicken kettle,” he prompted when Harry still didn’t react.

Harry lifted a hand to drag over his face, then nodded again and got up to turn on the kettle. While in the kitchen (and away from Malfoy’s general sleepiness), he could think clearly.

Why wasn’t he leaving? And why wasn’t Malfoy kicking him out?

He knew why he wasn’t going out of his own accord. That much was obvious. He was intrigued by Malfoy, always had been since that snobby little voice taunted him on the Hogwarts Express ten years ago. That fascination had maybe shifted in recent years as they’d slowly become friends, and he was no longer trying to derail Malfoy’s plans. Instead, he found himself wanting to be included in said plans. He wanted to be someone Malfoy trusted and considered close.

But what did Malfoy want from him? He had plenty of people looking out for him. He sure as shit didn’t trust Harry as much as he did Luna and Neville, and definitely less than he trusted his Slytherin friends.

It occurred to Harry that none of these said friends were there right now. It was only Harry there. And Malfoy was obviously going through something and didn’t want to be alone. Harry understood that, and he decided that if Malfoy needed him to keep away the ghosts of loneliness, Harry would be there.

Resolved, Harry carried the mugs to the living room. Malfoy had turned off the TV, so the only light came from the hallway and the kitchen. The faint glow made Malfoy’s pale complexion contrast starkly with the darkness of the couch, and Harry had to fight to keep his breath.

Fuck.

Malfoy made grabby hands for his mug. Harry slotted into his spot next to Malfoy, who covered his legs with half of his blanket. It was gloriously warm, and Harry had to stop himself from thinking too hard about Malfoy’s body heat.

They sipped their tea slowly, just basking in the silence. It was as comfortable as when Harry was alone, but without the gut-wrenching despair that accompanied the solitude. It was surprisingly nice.

“Thanks for being here,” Malfoy mumbled eventually. “I’m not really used to having people just be there when I need them.”

“Not Blaise?” Harry asked. They’d always seemed really close.

Malfoy shrugged. “Blaise is great, and I love him, but I don’t know if compassion is his strongest quality.” He sipped. “I really only started to notice it with you lot. You seem to smell gloom and then latch onto it like a crup that got hold of a bone.”

Harry grinned. “To be fair to Blaise, if he got concerned every time you threw a hissy fit, he’d never get around to living.”

Malfoy made a ridiculous mocking face at Harry, but then sobered up.

“I want to be a potions master,” he started. “It’s really all I’ve wanted to do since I was small and Severus let me watch him from a spare workbench.”

“So do it,” Harry suggested. “You have your NEWTs now, there’s not much stopping you.”

Malfoy winced. “My parents have other ideas.”

Harry scowled. “I thought your dad wasn’t talking to you?”

“He’s not. He only wrote to inform me that he might be willing to forget I ever came out to him if I marry whoever he could wrangle the best deal out of and went into business politics like he did. He wants me to rescue the family name.” Malfoy looked sad. “Or what’s left of it, I guess.”

Harry hesitated. “But you don’t want that?”

Malfoy glared so viciously that Harry squirmed in his seat. “Fuck no, Potter. I wouldn’t last a day surrounded by the sort of dumbness that resides in the ministry without completely losing my mind.”

“Then do you mind if I say something?”

Malfoy waved a callous hand. “Knock yourself out.” He finished the last of his tea.

“Just- maybe consider the reason why your family name is in shreds and requires rescuing in the first place,” Harry said carefully. He knew what family was like, and it’s hard to be disloyal to them, even when you know they were wrong. “Your father married someone from a pureblood family. He got involved in politics. He ran the family businesses and investments. He did everything right, exactly as he was supposed to, and yet you’re still here.” Malfoy was starting to look like he regretted giving Harry permission to speak.

“All I’m trying to say is maybe tradition and doing things right according to your parents’ expectations isn’t the way to go here in fixing up your reputation. Maybe you need to do the exact opposite, to prove to people that you’re more than a puppet controlled by a string of dead, racist men, right?”

Malfoy relaxed slightly and seemed to stare right through Harry.

“Actually, no, I take that back,” Harry said, suddenly feeling increasingly passionate about the whole thing. “Don’t make your decisions to prove people wrong. Don’t do anything to prove them right, either. Just consider what you want, what would make you happy, then go for that option. Because that’s all that matters at the very end, alright? Whether you were happy with your choices.”

Malfoy stood and took Harry’s empty mug from his fingers. He disappeared into the kitchen, and when he came back, his eyes were rimmed redder than before.

When he sat down again, he was much closer to Harry than before, and he had a very serious expression on his face that would have normally caused no small amount of anxiety in Harry.

“What if my choices are the wrong ones? What if I fuck everything up?”

Harry reached out carefully, placing a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder. “Then you go ‘Well shit, that went badly’ and you try again.”

The corners of Malfoy’s lips lifted slightly, but he still looked upset.

“Mistakes are how you learn. And usually people don’t give much of a fuck, as long as you own up and apologise, and if they can see that your intentions were pure.” Harry twisted his head so he could catch Malfoy’s eyes. “If you do fuck up, I’ll be on your side, okay? So will Luna and Neville and probably Ginny. We won’t lie and pretend that everything’s peachy, but we’ll help clean up the mess. You’re not on your own anymore.”

Malfoy’s hands shook slightly when he brought them up to cover his face, but when he took them away, he was smiling.

“Uhm, do you maybe want to -?” He stopped talking, instead holding out his hand. “I’m Draco. Since we’re officially friends now, and everything.”

Harry looked at Malfoy’s hand, so very different than the one he had extended to Harry ten years ago. He had pale skin and long fingers that seemed to pull Harry in. Harry reached out, gently taking hold of a hand he had been waiting to shake since first year.

“Friends, yeah. Call me Harry.”

Draco let go before Harry did, and after he’d nodded approvingly, moved back to his spot. “I still think your nose is ugly.”

Harry grinned at the break in tension. “Yes, well, some idiot stomped all over it like my face was a bathmat, so you might want to take it up with that fella instead.”

Draco shrugged and reached for the remote. “Are you staying? I don’t think I’m getting much sleep tonight.”

Harry wanted to mention Draco snoring on his thigh, but he let it go. A little part of him hoped that Draco would do it again. The rest was shouting for him to leave, already. “That would depend on the movie. And probably on whether or not you’re planning on making popcorn.”

“Maybe later,” Draco mumbled, pressing play on yet another random film. He snuggled into his blanket, and Harry adjusted accordingly.

Fuckity fuck. He had a crush on Draco Malfoy.


End file.
